


I Loved You First

by Corseted (anroisin)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M, Supernatural conversation hearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anroisin/pseuds/Corseted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are my sweetest downfall. Written for ivory_and_horn at livejournal for bitter_nakano's cheap Valentine's Day exchange of 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Loved You First

On February fourteenth at five in the evening, Itachi went to see Shisui.

First, he went to a candy shop and bought a small box of conversation hearts. The cashier looked at him with a fond smile.

“Your girlfriend’s lucky to have a cutie like you.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. But thank you.” He didn’t say anything after that, just handed over his money and tucked the little box in his pocket.

 

\--

_“Was I just mistaken for your girlfriend?”_

“Well, that’s whatcha get for looking like a girl.”

 

\--

It colder than it had been back then. This did not mean that it wasn’t cold then--just not punch-to-the-lungs-every-time-you-breathe, instantaneous-frostbite, state-of-emergency cold. He had still needed a scarf, like he did today. This particular scarf was lumpy and striped blue and red, with green tassels on the end.

Itachi sat on a park bench and shook the conversation hearts into his lap. It was difficult to lift each one with gloved fingers, but he managed, reading each inscription and carefully sorting out _relevant_ from _irrelevant._

 

\--

_”It doesn’t match.”_

“Suck it; I ran out of yarn. Don’t pretend you don’t love it anyway.”

 

\--

By the time he was finished, Itachi had five conversation hearts in the palm of his gloved hand. He left the other thirty-one in a meticulous pile on the bench and carefully slipped the others into his pocket. Then he stood up and continued, away from main street.

 

\--

_”Hey, gnome-boy, let’s go for a walk.”_

“It is three in the morning, Shisui; you’ll wake my parents.”

“Not if you hurry up and come downstairs! Come on. It’ll be fun.”

 

\--

The wind did a one-eighty and began to blow directly into Itachi’s face. He tugged the scarf over his nose and pulled his hat over his ears, jaw clenching at the icy chill.

 

\--

_”I’ll keep you warm. Come on. It’s Valentine’s Day.”_

“....give me ten minutes.”

 

\--

There was a cemetery to the right. It was not Itachi’s destination--he had only been once in his childhood, and had no intention of going again. He passed the gate, and the fence surrounding the graves, and stepped onto the hidden trail that lead to the river.

 

\--

_”Pretty, isn’t it. I wonder if it’s solid enough to skate.”_

“Don’t--! What if you fall in?”

“Aw, don’t worry, chicken, I was kidding.”

“...I’m not a chicken.”

“It’s cute. I don’t mind.”

“I’m not.”

 

\--

He was taller now than he had been then. The trail seemed narrower, and simultaneously less exciting. Branches Shisui’d had to hold back to keep from scratching Itachi’s face were closer to chest-height now, and hardly affected him as he pushed past.

Beyond the trees, the sun glinted innocuously on the frozen river.

 

\--

_”Dammit, Itachi, I was teasing you! Get the hell off the ice!”_

“I told you I wasn’t--”

“Itachi--!”

 

\--

There was no way the river wasn’t frozen solid, but Itachi’s heart still jumped into his throat at the sight.

The water had been so cold it had felt like fire, weighing down his clothes until they were heavier than cement.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the conversation hearts, then picked up the first.

 

\--

_“Shisui--I can’t--”_

“I’m coming! Hang on, don’t go under--!”

 

\--

“You’re cute.” He tossed the candy onto the ice. Shisui’s smile lit up more than his face; it radiated through his entire _body_. Other people said he looked awkward, gangly, lanky; Itachi thought he was the second most beautiful person in the world. (The first was Sasuke, tiny and precious and vulnerable, who Itachi loved more as a son than a brother.)

“Hug me.” Shisui’s body was solid, sturdy arms encircling Itachi in warmth and serenity. His heartbeat was steady, pounding under Itachi’s cheek. The second candy followed the first.

 

\--

_“Shisui...”_

Silence.

 

\--

“Kiss me.” They had been twelve and fourteen, tangled together in Shisui’s bed, one of many sleepovers that were shyer and more nervous than strictly necessary.

He had come so close.

The third candy skidded, landing further towards the center of the river than the other two.

 

\--

_”...Itachi, I can’t...”_

“I’ve got one--grab the end, I’ll pull you out.”

“...can’t grip it, kiddo.”

 

\--

“I love you.”

He must have said it a million times in his own head. Every time Shisui smiled, every time they touched, every time he woke with the smell of Shisui’s body wash in his nose and the weight of Shisui’s arm against his belly.

This was the first time the words met air. He didn’t quite want to let go of the candy, a reluctance that felt childish and ridiculous; but it wasn’t his to keep. He tossed it, gently, watching as it slid to a stop next to the other three.

 

\--

_”But you have to, otherwise you’ll--”_

“...can...b...barely...talk. Get home ..’fore you freeze in th-those...w...w...wet clothes.”

“I’ll come back and get you. You’ll be okay.”

 

\--

“...I’m sorry.”

The last candy fell onto the ice with no sound.

The wind had stopped, the air still, but stinging against his face. Itachi thought he would probably deserve to get hypothermia and die of it, like he should have when he was thirteen. Sasuke often told him that it was Shisui’s fault for diving in after him instead of finding a branch, but he had never really been able to make himself believe it.

Shisui’s face had been horribly, horribly white, and so still. His lips had been so blue it looked as though he’d been spitting ink. By the time Itachi made it back to the house, frantic and convulsing with the chill air against his soaked clothing, Shisui’s body had slid underneath the ice.

Itachi turned and climbed the bank of the river, back to the trail. He had promised Kisame Italian, and he’d need time to piece himself back together.

 

\--

_“I’m sorry, Itachi.”_

“...It’s my fault.”

 

\--

The dinner was nice; good food, good wine, and company that could carry on a one-sided conversation with witty, impersonal anecdotes. If Kisame noticed Itachi’s quietness, he didn’t comment, but Itachi had never been particularly verbose; he probably didn’t even register a difference.

“How about next Thursday, eight?” Kisame asked, outside the door to Itachi’s apartment. Itachi managed a smile.

“Nine is better. My brother has a recital,” he said, slipping his key into the lock. Kisame nodded, then stole a kiss that made Itachi freeze, thoughts grinding to a dead halt.

“Nine it is. Stay warm,” Kisame said cheerfully, as though nothing had happened. Itachi didn’t remember how to turn the key in his lock for a good fifteen minutes after his date was out of sight.

Eventually, though, he managed to make his hands move, and then managed to get his shoes off and his door re-locked and dragged himself to his kitchenette to make some tea.

The conversation heart was small and nearly blended in with the place mat, so he almost set his mug down right on top of it.

_LET GO_

“It’s not him.” Itachi’s chest tightened, his breathing quick and tremulous. He picked up the candy, intent on throwing it out; he’d probably gotten it from a coworker and forgotten.

_DON’T WORRY B HAPPY_

A printing malfunction, it had to be a--his knees were going to give out--Itachi sank into a chair at the little table, his vision blurring. His breath quickened further until it was coming in and out in ragged, choked gasps.

A printing malfunction. Nothing more than a coincidence.

 

\--

_It wasn’t your fault._

“Shisui--?”

 

\--

Itachi kept the little piece of candy, tucked in a small box that also contained the first valentine Shisui had ever made him, a cardstock affair decorated with cut-up doilies and too much glitter.

Years later, Kisame would wonder why his husband was hanging onto a stale piece of heart-shaped candy with the phrase THANK YOU printed on the face.


End file.
